My husband doesn’t like it when people describe things they saw as “like in a movie.” He always says life is more interesting than a movie, so we don't need movie references to think things are incredible or interesting. Life is life—and sometimes it’s unbelievable. He is not wrong, but at the same time, I have a story that I can only describe as though I was watching a movie—a bewildering movie unfolding in front of my eyes.
In the summer of 2022, I went to visit my brother in Maine to celebrate his birthday. He was living in Portland for three months, getting out of the Virginia heat, and we had a plan to take a boat tour around the harbor, which featured Portland's self-proclaimed “best cover band” as the entertainment for the day. I could not tell you the name of the band.
We arrived at the port in time to have an early lunch by the water and get in line for a good spot on the boat near the band. I was also hoping for a somewhat comfortable seating situation since we would be on the water for four hours, and I never prefer to stand up for that long. My brother and I were the third and fourth people to queue, and just a moment after we claimed our spot, I couldn't help but notice a couple urgently walking toward us—or more specifically, toward the line we were in. A young woman in her early 20s bounced down the walkway, wearing her dyed-red hair in pigtails and a T-shirt for the band that was going to be playing on the boat (again—the name escapes me). A few steps behind her was a sauntering skinny guy in cut-off shorts and a white tank top, easily 15 to 20 years older than her, walking with the gait of confidence that I associated with a “locals rule, tourists drool” attitude. They caught my attention not just because of their movements—one springing along and one moseying— but they stood out because they seemed like the odd pair. Their demeanors were so opposite—hers innocent and bubbly, his supercilious. He seemed like he was trying so hard to seem tough, maybe trying to compensate for his not-so-strong-looking frame and balding head, and she seemed so childlike, grinning from ear to ear with excitement as they arrived. I was immediately intrigued by their dynamic. The movie had officially started.
I tried not to stare rudely at the couple, and I shifted my gaze back to the boat, watching the crew finalize their to-do list for departure. The vivacious girl started chatting with the next couple who had gotten in line behind them, explaining that it was her favorite band that was playing and that she goes to see them every month when they perform on the boat. We boarded a few minutes later and, just as I hoped, my brother and I found a great high-top table covered by an awning near the bar with a great view of where the band was playing. My brother headed to the bar to get us drinks, and I noticed the buoyant girl and her companion get closer to where the band’s equipment was set up, taking seats on a bench in the sun, front row as only the most die-hard fans do at a concert. As she continued to sit and save their seats, her haughty partner got up and passed by our table, making his way to the bar. He quickly started chatting with the other patrons around him, smacking passengers on the back in the familiar manner of good friends, or at least good neighbors or co-workers, as he signaled for the bartender to bring him a Coors Light. Does he really know everyone here? I didn’t doubt that there were other locals on board, but so much of this felt like it was for tourists. I looked around at the groups forming on the boat’s patio. I could see bachelorette parties forming in small circles, a group of older women presumably on vacation together away from their daily responsibilities, and some more obvious families made of mothers, fathers, and children milling around. These were tourists just like my brother and me. I doubted the man had ever seen these people before today.
My brother came back from the bar a moment later with two cans of spiked seltzers, and we chatted as the boat started to depart from shore, intermittently listening to announcements from the captain over the intercom. Before we even finished our first round of drinks, the band made their way to their small stage. By this point, the boastful man had returned to his seat next to the girl, who hadn’t moved but looked up and smiled at him. He hadn’t gotten her a drink. How odd, I thought. But he had been very busy cutting it up with his “friends” at the bar, so maybe he just forgot. He sat down next to her, and my gaze remained fixated on them. He leaned over to talk into her ear, and within seconds, her attitude shifted. He had said something to her that upset her greatly. Her animated grin faded, and her face turned sour. She lowered her head and crossed her arms across her chest, pouting like a child, as the man stood up and walked off toward the back of the boat, once again crossing in front of our table. I felt bad for the girl, now somber and no longer excited, because I'd seen how thrilled she was only 30 minutes before when we were waiting to get on the boat, and now, seconds before her favorite band was going to play, she didn’t seem to want to be here at all. And she was their number one fan! What a bummer.
My eyes were still on my melancholy main character as the band started playing cover songs: classic rock, 80s, 90s, early 2000s. It was a great range to please any crowd, and it wasn’t long before the dance floor was packed. A few songs in, it was time for me to go visit the restroom on the first floor of the boat. I made my way down the main stairs to where a line had formed for the ladies’ room. Three women wearing bachelorette sashes and tiaras were waiting outside of the single-use toilet— along with the bumptious man, who was leaning on the stair railing, telling the women how good they looked in their outfits. Is this guy flirting with women who are stuck waiting for the bathroom after he just upset his partner upstairs only moments ago? Yes, he is. Gross. I grunted to myself and decided I didn't need to go to the restroom that badly, turning around to go back upstairs to the deck.
I sat back down with my brother, who had gotten us another round at the bar while I had been gone. The now gloomy girl hadn’t moved. Her chin was still tilted down, her mouth in a frown. So much of a frown that I wondered how much effort it was taking her to look that sad, but not as though it was genuine sadness. It was apparent she was no longer enjoying herself at all. She wasn't dancing to the band or singing along, even with dozens of people only a few feet away from her relishing in the tunes of HER FAVORITE BAND. My stare alternated between the girl and the band, the girl and the band, the girl and the band for a few minutes, until I saw the man walk past our table again and head back toward her. My stare is now fixated on them only. What is his game? What is he up to? Upsetting his companion and then flirting with ladies in the bathroom line? I am enthralled. This movie is so intriguing, I have completely stopped talking to my brother. I have forgotten he is with me and that we are celebrating his birthday today. I am watching a fascinating movie, and I am going to need everyone to be quiet, so I don’t miss a single scene. I still haven’t gone to the bathroom.
The cocky man leans down and whispers something to my protagonist, and it seems to confirm her bitter feelings and distaste for how the day is going. She manages to sulk even harder, her shoulders folding in further, her head sinking lower. My antagonist throws his hands up in a gesture of “I give up,” and walks back to the bar, finding the closest group to “good friends”, inserting himself into their conversation. I start to wonder whether the girl was ever going to get a chance to feel better. We were already halfway through the boat ride, and she hadn’t moved an inch, yet the man was enjoying himself, with only brief interruptions in his good time to upset my heroine further.
I didn’t move from my seat for the next two hours, and neither did the girl. The man would wander onto the deck every 20 minutes or so, never getting closer than 5 or 6 feet from the bench, keeping an eye on the girl, but not sitting to talk to her. As the captain steered the boat back to the port, the band made an announcement that it would be their last song. It had been nearly four hours since we departed, and my once effervescent girl had never moved from her spot and never stopped looking dejected. As the band starts their last song—a slow melody that I cannot tell you the name of—the man appears in our scene once again. He walks a straight path to the girl, grabs her by the hand, pulls her up, brings her to the middle of the empty dance floor, and begins to slow dance with her reluctant body. It is apparent that she doesn’t want to dance with him, her arms limp against his shoulders, her torso pulled back to not connect with his chest. Then suddenly, as though planned and rehearsed, the other passengers on board make their way to the dance floor and circle the couple, joining hands and creating a 30-person group hug. This mass of human arms and heads swayed to the music, embracing the girl and the man, and for the first time since we embarked on our journey, I saw the girl smile and start to laugh. She was happy again for the last song, the last dance in one enormous embrace.
The boat docked as the band stopped playing, and the group hug dissipated as though a director had yelled, “Cut!” No one talked to the couple. The passengers who had so lovingly orbited the girl and man gathered their belongings and departed quickly, off to the rest of their days as tourists—or actors? My trance was broken, and I snapped back into reality as my brother asked me if I was ready to go. I said yes, the first words I had spoken to him in hours, and picked up my jacket and purse. We made our way down the stairs, off the boat, and out to the main street of the Old Fort. My brother mentioned he was hungry, and I agreed. Neither of us had eaten anything on the boat. We found a sushi restaurant within a couple of blocks where we sat at a table on the patio facing the cobblestone sidewalk and the storefronts across the street. After the server took our drink order, I felt the need to ask my brother if he had noticed the couple on the boat, wanting some confirmation or validation of what I had seen. I hadn’t wanted to ask him while we were on the boat— it would have felt like talking in the movie theater. Rude. I asked him if he had noticed the young girl with the older man, and before I had a chance to elaborate on their behavior, dress, demeanor, narrative, plot, story, character arc, he interrupted me and said, “Yes, definitely.” And he had the same reaction that I did: how bizarre it all felt, the depth of the characters we had seen: the couple, the band, the crowd. It all seemed staged. He had noticed it all too—everything but the ladies’ bathroom scene. We had watched this movie together. As I listened to my brother recap the film, thrilled that I had not been alone in my experience, my eye caught movement behind his shoulder, and I saw the girl and the man walking down the sidewalk hand in hand, the girl as happy as she had been when she first arrived for the port. Bubbly again. Bouncing and giggling. The man kept pace with her, smiling too as he swaggered along. They walked right past my brother and me, never looking over at us as our eyes followed them until they were out of our sight. My brother and I looked back at each other in awe. The movie had officially ended.
